Over the years, my family has interacted with countless medical professionals. They've come in all shapes, sizes and specialties. We've encountered them throughout the eleven surgeries of our son, the twice-weekly physical and occupational therapy sessions ?not to mention the routine doctor visits for check-ups and treatment of various illnesses.

We’ve had some real ?winners?over the years. And by ?winners?I’mtalking about those who made me wish it were still socially acceptable to challenge someone to a duel. Metaphorically, of course.

The legendary comedian George Carlin once said that somewhere out there is the world’s worst doctor ?and somebody has an appointment with him tomorrow. It might be me.

For example, I might have already mentioned the doctor who gave us our son’s initial diagnosis. I don’t even remember his real name - I just affectionately call him ?Doctor Death?.

This guy delivered the most devastating news of our lives with all the bedside manor of a Mack truck. To this day, I can see his exam room and I can remember sitting in the chair as he talked to us so callously about our beloved son.

Over the years, I’ve carried that hurt with me into most of our dealings with other physicians. Unfortunately, some of these doctors and therapists have reinforced my misgivings about the medical profession.

I wondered how they had managed to make it through years of working with parents of disabled children without someone ever telling them how awful and devastating their bedside manner was.

Ok, I will admit it. I am pretty cynical. As I have gotten older, I have found myself yelling at the evening news more and more. I read about disabilities and services for those with special needs and I come away more and more jaded. I don’t mean to bring anybody down but does anybody think our society’s attitude towards disability is getting better? And that doesn’t even get into the way those with disabilities interact with services that already exist. From what I can tell, services are costly, and since budgets are stretched everywhere people want to cut services. What I really don’t understand is how the neediest among us are the first to lose services every time! If I look around, I can get myself into a real funk over the state of things. I can blame the current administration or my elected officials; I can accuse them of abandoning us. I can blame the last forty years of Presidents and Congresses, but in the end is that where the blame really lies? I don’t think I am alone in this. I think more and more of us are pessimistic and have become downright sour when we reflect on where we are and where we are going. This forces me to look somewhere new for answers. Before welfare or disability insurance or Social Security were even a gleam in the eye of Franklin Roosevelt, how did anyone in need get help? In those days, we cared for each other in the church. I know things weren’t perfect, but “God’s people” led the way in caring for the needy, and it was their churches that fed the hungry and visited the sick. The church used to be the epicenter of local communities, in some sense the envy of the world. In the name of God we helped the poor and the downtrodden without acclaim or fanfare, because we believed it was the calling of God. It was the mission of the church to feed and clothe and care for all. Jesus commanded us to do so, even to the point of asserting that those who neglect to help the needy do not know God (see Matt. 25 31-46). In the old days, when a neighbor was in need, people stepped up and helped. They raised a barn; they brought food when someone was sick; they comforted, prayed, even corrected. At least this was an ideal they aspired to. Yes it was considered their “Christian” duty, but it was also the right thing to do. They knew that if the Church didn’t fill such needs, no one would, and if they were ever in need it would only be the kindness of others that they could count on.

When I was a much younger man. I was fortunate enough to be in a job that was in demand. I had many opportunities to get in with companies that needed a new skill, which I happen to be blessed enough to have learned. My problem was not in having a job, but picking a company to work for. All of the companies would put on a good show when they were talking to me about working for them. Some seemed like good companies but I had no real system for figuring out if I should work for them or not. I would listen and make a decision mostly based on how nice they seemed to be. My way of picking was not always right. While not all of them worked out great, only one of them was really horrible! The company, which I found out after I was hired, was a mess. The two owners did not like each other, and the position I was in was the middleman. I regretted making the choice to work there from the first week. Which is probably why I only lasted six months in that job. When I make a decision like that I really get down on myself. I start to retrace what lead up to the choice I made, looking at each step, or scrutinizing how I should have made a different decision. Whether it is decisions about my kids or work I can really dwell on the negatives. That work place fiasco happened over fifteen years ago, yet I bring it up in my mind from time to time just to rehash what I did wrong. I know the Bible tells me that God forgives me my transgressions, but I don’t forgive myself.

I feel like this month has been one of great contrasts. Maybe it’s just because it’s fall. Because of the altitude here in Colorado, it might be 80 degrees one October day, followed by snow the next. It’s not uncommon to also see this: people walking around in shorts and t-shirts with two feet of snow on the ground. Though the weather hasn’t really started to change drastically, fall is definitely in the air: it is drizzling and cold as I write this.

Two other things I’ve seen recently were also of drastic contrast. One was a link I noticed on a news Web site tucked in between stories about the economy and “Movie Star Drug Rehab Gone Bad.” The headline essentially proclaimed: “Expert believes smothering children compassionate.” In the story was a link to a YouTube video of a woman named Virginia Ironside, who was speaking on a British talk show. In an interview, she explains that she thinks “good mothers” would take a pillow and smother their suffering children. And by suffering, she primarily means children with disabilities.

Although I have never heard of Ms. Ironside, this line of thinking is nothing new. It is the same old story: a child who has a disability must invariably be suffering. According to this (faulty) logic, since a disabled child’s “quality of life” must be terrible, the compassionate thing to do is to get rid of the child. In reality, of course, it’s not only immoral, but a purely selfish thing to do.

(Here is the link to the video so you can see what is being said in the name of “compassion.” click here